


The Ignition of an Inferno

by HowAboutThatSnapback



Series: The Inferno of Revolution [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Inferno AU, My First Smut, Smut, i had to learn 1700s dirty words, pego is exactly what you think it is when you read it later, the story wrote itself though so I can't complain, this was not how this was supposed to go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowAboutThatSnapback/pseuds/HowAboutThatSnapback
Summary: Not all Ignitions are the same. Alexander was virtually alone for his brutal first step into being an Inferno, however, years prior George Washington was not.
Relationships: George Washington/Martha Washington
Series: The Inferno of Revolution [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881436
Kudos: 4





	The Ignition of an Inferno

_Not a soul breathes a word about the beautiful agony that an Inferno must endure before they are born. [illegible] not meant to be held in a man and yet the Inferno stand on the precipice and survive._

_-Journal of the Infernos, Pg. 54, Inferno Napoleon Bonaparte_

_It is paramount that I let you know that Inferno suffer more than any man with their birth.  
[water damage] to achieve the great heights they manage; they must have the will to control the divine power that they are blessed with otherwise it will consume them entirely._

_-Unknown Inferno, Cir. 1540s_

_Divinity is harsh, but in the same breath absolute bliss._

_-Inferno Cyrus the Great_

As a young man, he did not envision his life leading to where he is at 43. John Adams had nominated him to be Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army- if it could even be called an army. Farmers and common men with one-year enlistments that would abandon the fight as soon as they were released from service. They would learn discipline and fight even if it killed him. He would fight for longer enlistments to chain the men to the fight they so desperately needed to win. With fierce conviction he decided he would lead the colonies to victory.

He was unaware that this decision would lead him to being set ablaze.

When he awakens the ability to sit up or even roll to his side is beyond his grasp. The room is black as pitch and quiet save for the breathing of his wife at his side. It feels as if something large has been laid atop his body from head to toe regardless of his now adjusted eyes telling him differently. This pressure is all the warning he is given before his entire world shrinks down to just himself.

Unbearable heat settles over him fiercer than any fever he’s experienced in his life. He can feel the bead of sweat trickling down his temple towards his hairline and if he had the strength, he would have kicked the covers off immediately. He pants quietly, trying for breath that before was a simple task as he wills his body to move. It does not work.

It is with just a slight brush of Martha’s skin against his that the terrible heat takes on a pleasurable lilt.

He writhes with overwhelmingly glorious agony as his member strains against his nightgown. He has never before felt so intensely as he does in that moment and it leaves him whimpering quietly into the darkness.

There is a shift in the bed that ricochets his pain and pleasure to new heights leaving him gasping quietly.

It could have been minutes or hours of these seemingly never-ending tides of contradiction before anything _can_ catch his attention. Judgement Day could have come and he would not have known.

He is vaguely aware of a voice calling his name in concern and this makes him open his eyes to find Martha hovering over him worriedly. She touches his cheeks and forehead to check for the obvious fever, however, this sends what feels like electricity and heat throughout his body that leaves him moaning wordlessly.

She pulls away and rests a hand on his chest, saying his name again, but this tears a silent roar from his throat. He cannot breathe. Her touch magnifies every ounce of glorious torture tenfold. Thankfully, she yanks her hand back at this leaving the feelings stagnate and steady.

He wants to both die and live in this moment forever. He squeezes his eyes shut in hopes of regaining some semblance of control, but it is all beyond his ability.

He manages to hear Martha promising to get help and he’s sure she would have if his body did not move on its own to grip her wrist with a firm hold to keep her in place. He wants to let her go and get help, but his body is not listening to him. If it would, he’d release her and move from the bed to at least douse himself in cold water.

Her fingernails dig into the skin of his hand and his member twitches at the satisfying torment in the action. Instinctively, he knows this will bring him closer to the end. The end of what, he is not sure, but it is his only hope of escaping this heavenly hell.

“Please,” he begs, voice husky and taut and eyes opening briefly to meet his wife’s in hopes of conveying what he needs. “Please.”

She stares at him with confusion for a long moment as his eyes close.

He can barely hear her ask for clarification over his own pounding heartbeat. His fingers tighten briefly, but otherwise he cannot speak beyond whispered pleas not unlike what he sounds like in the middle of carnal knowledge.

She somehow seems to understand and her gaze flickers to his pego standing at attention. All the while he pleads for her to end his suffering.

He hears her slip off her undergarments and feels her hitch his nightgown up. He feels her free him from the restraint of his undergarments and soon she’s straddling him, her warmth tantalizingly close. He forces his eyes open to admire her beauty. He takes care to memorize the determined love in her features because her hovering over him with her brown curls framing her face. An angel. His angel in, what he realizes could be, his last moments.

He closes his eyes and moans deeply as she slowly lowers onto him and soon his hand releases her wrist and grasps the sheets under him with every fiber of strength not directed to keeping him pinned to the bed.

Her fingers caress his chest through the fabric, sending shocks through his body. His breathing deepens as she begins to move atop him. She bows over him and places delicate kisses all over. His chest, his shoulders his neck, his jaw, and finally his lips. Whispers of sweet praise and love pass through her lips, brushing against his skin delicately. His knuckles are white as they grip the sheets with increasing strength.

“-mine.”

That word alone sends a thrill through him and the added inflection caused by her nails digging into his shoulders is what finally sends him over the edge. He releases into her with not a roar, but desperate gasp made up of only her.

The blissful agony is swept away instantly, leaving him a panting, sweating mess underneath his wife. Her fingers brush against his jaw tentatively as she breathlessly examines him.

“George?”

His eyes open and behind them are relentless wildfires.

Martha gasps in quiet reverence and places her hands on his chest to steady herself. “George…”

His fiery eyes glint with worry. “Martha? What is it?”

“Your eyes,” she breathes. “I thought your eyes divine before…”

He frowns up at her. “What do you mean?”

Her gaze does not waver, though her strength does under the intensity of his gaze, leaving her leaning heavily onto his chest. She whispers one word that explains it all, one word that makes sense of the horrific pleasure he endured.

“Inferno.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't typically write smut. In fact this is the first one I've actually written down and published. This was supposed to be a short 600 word fic, however as you can see, George and Martha took things into their own hands. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed


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